Twenty Days and a Full Moon
by Geale
Summary: There are bad things about new co-workers, and then there are good things. And Bill is *so* not a werewolf. Srsly.


**Summary: **There are bad things about new co-workers, and then there are good things. And Bill is _so_ not a werewolf. Srsly.

**Pairing:** Bill/Draco

**Rating: **M

**Warnings: **Some silliness, a pinch of something that might be mild angst and one surprisingly non-silly carnal union between two men. Meaning, SLASH.

**Disclaimer: **I get to keep the greasy pot! It's all mine!

**Twenty Days and a Full Moon**

**-ooo-**

**Day One, Wednesday morning **

**(A rainy, sodden one.)**

William – Bill – Weasley, yes, the one with the long red hair, the fang-equipped earring and the… interesting (to put it mildly) scars stretching along his left cheek and temple, had always been a fan of surprises. He liked his job, even, which not everyone in his position would have done. Goblins and all.

That said, he was not sure what to think of this latest one. Surprise that was, not goblin. For the most part, surprises of a varying degree of quality came and went in life, whereas goblins pretty much only came. And not in the sexual sense (which really was a disturbing thought, come – no pun intended – to think about it).

All right, so maybe once or twice Bill had given goblin sex life one or two thoughts before, although that was not something he was very likely to admit to in a sober state. Not to other people at least. Those were the types of musings one did best to keep to oneself, probably. _That said_, it would not surprise him if Fred and George had debated it. Then again, what had those two _not _debated over the years?

In any case, this was beside the point. Bill currently had much more pressing matters to attend to; the problem being that he had no idea just how to attend to them. Because if there was one thing he had never expected, it was finding Draco Malfoy seated opposite him, impeccably dressed in formal, dark robes, and looking mildly expectantly at him across his desk.

"You're going to work... here?" Bill asked, incredulous. "At Gringotts?"

Malfoy gave a sort of drawn-out shrug that looked more like a rearrangement of his shoulders. "So it seems."

Bill narrowed his eyes at him. "This wasn't your idea?"

"Let's say that the opportunity presented itself at an appropriate time. It seemed a waste to let it slip away unnoticed."

_Slippery like a goblin all right_, reflected Bill, while wishing that the small voice in the back of his mind suggesting that this might be a useful trait in a co-worker had the sense to shut up.

"It's been four years, Malfoy," said Bill. "Nobody's seen as much as a wisp of that blond hair of yours since the War ended. Why am I supposed to believe that you want to come back and make an honest living now?"

Another shrug. "I'm here, aren't I?"

In vain, Bill tried to see past the façade. Malfoy's pale face was impassive and his eyes betrayed nothing but a faint glimmer of neutral interest. The aforementioned hair had grown but was far from long. In fact, it was about the length that Bill's own mother might accept as a basis for a decent haircut.

Pushing this rather disturbing thought aside, Bill leaned back in his chair. "There are not many wizards or witches around any more," he warned Malfoy in a last attempt to dissuade him. "Since the War, the goblins have grown even more distrustful of humans. Gringotts is turning inwards."

"Suits me," said Malfoy. "I'm not very trusting either." His grey eyes were cool.

_No shit_, thought Bill.

**Day Two, Thursday afternoon **

**(A remarkably unproductive one.)**

Bill had never been too fond of parchment. It was something he had discovered first upon leaving Hogwarts and he was grateful that his own head had kept this information from him until he had achieved his N.E.W.T.s. Working as a curse-breaker for Gringotts had kept him at a safe distance from any heavier writing duties but now... He sighed as he surveyed his small office. His warning to Malfoy the day before had not been empty words. Above all, to the goblins the War had proven that humans – wizards and Muggles alike – could not be trusted. As a result, Bill found himself dealing less and less with practical matters and clients, and more and more with paperwork.

Strolling over to his door, Bill glanced across the glumly lit corridor and towards Malfoy's new office and his closed door. Bill did not like it, but a part of him was happy to have another human around.

"Cleared of all charges," he muttered to himself as he dropped back into his chair.

Yeah, well, genuine trust was a mutual thing.

**Day Three, Friday afternoon **

**(During which the sun came out enough to remind some people of the state of their window-glass.)**

"You're wearing _that_?"

Bill cursed inwardly. Why he had let slip that he was going out to dinner tonight was still a bit of a mystery to him. Malfoy had asked something about one of the vaults being guarded by what appeared to be a chunk of bread; which had led Bill to explain that garlic was somehow involved... which had led to Malfoy mentioning Italy and here they were.

"What do you care?" Bill glanced down at his black jeans and dusty dragon hide boots.

"You look like a Muggle." There was a decidedly scornful note in his voice. "But what do I know, maybe she likes it."

"What?" Bill frowned at him. "She who?"

Malfoy raised one silvery blond eyebrow. He was leaning against the door frame, arms crossed over his chest. "_Your wife_, Weasley. That Veela you somehow managed to snare for yourself though I'm sure no one understands how."

For a moment, Bill stared at him in complete confusion. Then the pieces of the puzzle snapped into place. He shook his head, a small grin tugging at the corner of his lips. "Four years, Malfoy, is a long time." He waved a hand dismissively in his direction. "Last I heard, she's in Austria."

He could not tell exactly which emotion passed over Malfoy's face but he liked it nonetheless. It was kin to genuine surprise, and more substantial than any of the fleeting airs that surrounded the younger man.

"Well, well..." drawled Malfoy, a sneer tagging along in his words' wake. "A divorce? The first in the family?"

Bill pulled his leather jacket on over the black t-shirt. "You're a bit late to the party."

As he strolled down the corridor, he was conscious of Malfoy's eyes burning into his back.

**Day Six, Monday morning **

**(Bloody, fucking Monday mornings.)**

"Good weekend, Weasley?"

With some effort, Bill lifted his head to glare at the intruder. "Lonely, Malfoy?"

"My, my..." Malfoy was rolling his wand between his hands almost thoughtfully. "Looks like that dinner was a success..." his eyes narrowed, "or a complete fiasco."

Biting back a response, Bill only continued to glare.

"Want me to _Summon_ a potion for you?" said Malfoy, an annoying hint of sweetness in his voice. "Something to take the edge off that pounding in your head?"

"I'm fine, thank you." It came out more as a growl.

"You know what, Weasley. I don't believe you at all."

With a quick flourish of his wand and some muttered words Bill could not make out, he made a small glass of something that looked like _something_ collected in a swamp appear at his right elbow. The concoction hovered in mid-air, the smell reminding Bill of Muggle glue (yes, his father had a secret stash of that in The Burrow), and from its surface rose a faint trail of steam.

Bill turned away, feeling his stomach jolt. "That's disgusting."

"Nevertheless, it will serve its purpose," said Malfoy. With a small twitch of his wand, he made the glass zoom into Bill's view again. "Drink up."

It proved no use averting his gaze. Without spilling a drop of the oozing goo, the glass flitted back and forth before his face whenever Bill tried.

Over by the door, Malfoy clicked his tongue disapprovingly. "One would think you a two-year-old," he said. "I'll have that glass follow you around wherever you go until you've emptied it."

"I'll empty it over your head," muttered Bill, pulling out his own wand.

"Oh, for Merlin's sake!"

Malfoy was the quicker one. Before Bill knew just what had happened, he was pushed back into his chair, his mouth falling open, and the glass swiftly knocked its content into his mouth. Spluttering – and swallowing – he found that though he'd not been _Stunned,_ Malfoy's magic had proven just as effective.

His eyes watered as the potion slid down his throat at an alarmingly slow pace, but then seemed to change its mind. The sensation of the thick concoction crawling upwards had Bill retching but to no avail; no matter its current course, the slime had decided that it would stay inside him. At the first flicker of panic, he automatically swallowed again, and this time the potion slid obediently down his throat and towards his stomach.

Gasping for air, he heard Malfoy sniggering over by the door.

"That's it Weasley, swallow like a good boy."

**Monday lunch **

**(Perfect for reminiscing.)**

Whatever the concoction had been, it – damn it to hell (and Malfoy too, for that matter) – _had _helped.

The bone-shattering headache had been reduced to a slow rise and fall of a few dull thuds, sparingly interspersed, and his stomach had settled. Bill sat in his office – with his door firmly shut – and his eyes closed; head in his hands.

_Swallow like a good boy. _

For one moment, Bill had been certain that the other man knew more than he was leading on. To Bill, this last comment before Malfoy waltzed back into his own office, had implied that his adventures last Friday had somehow become common knowledge.

It was no great secret that he was gay. Or – let's start over – he did not make a great effort to hide it. Only from his mother... and his father... and a few other people who were close to him. Come to think of it, Charlie was the only one among his family members whom he had told. Conveniently, Charlie was still roaming Romania for dragons and was thus not very likely to slip up.

It wasn't that he was ashamed of his preferences. It was just bloody difficult saying something. He'd considered telling his mum right after Ginny's engagement to Harry having been made public, figuring that in the general happy buzz, his voice would easily disappear. Unfortunately, Harry and Ginny had chosen to get engaged while Bill was still married to Fleur, and soon the talk turned to grandchildren.

Bill had nothing against kids but the idea of him and Fleur having some had made him cringe. He loved her well, that was not the issue, but the statistics were against her. So far, she was the only woman that Bill had ever fancied. And she had that Veela thing going on.

He was not sure wolves were meant to be with Veelas, after all. Then again, he had been quite the ordinary wizard when he first met her.

In the end, she had been the one to take the word 'divorce' in her mouth. Bill had made sure to _never _suggest to her that her physical form, though certainly aesthetically pleasing to the eye, had been the problem. Not saying, of course, that there had been anything wrong with her personality. No... Fleur's problem – and it was one not so easily tackled – was that she was, most definitely and beyond all doubt, a woman.

_Swallow. _

Check.

He'd done that last Friday. But the bloke he'd gone out to dinner with had been the perfect bore. He worked at some obscure department at the Ministry and was capable of talking about nothing else than the snake's nest of laws governing the production and selling of ink bottles.

Bill had stopped listening after twenty minutes, a fact that had not seemingly bothered his companion who only appeared pleased at this opportunity to make whatever point of his clear. They'd parted outside the restaurant and without thinking Bill had apparated to a more questionable part of London where the alleys were narrower and darker, and odd lights in the windows let any passers-by know which house to enter, depending on taste and size of wallet.

He'd spent Saturday drowning his sorrows in a shadowed corner of the Leaky Cauldron; and much of Sunday telling himself that he should never do that again. So he chose a different pub that night.

Once in a while he allowed himself a weekend like that. He was sure that someday in the future he would figure out just what purpose they served.

**Day Seven, Tuesday (late) afternoon**

"Why did she leave you?"

Bill ignored the question and gestured at the file he'd just dropped on Malfoy's desk. "The Adero vault. The wife claims a bracelet's gone missing from it."

Malfoy ignored the file. "Because you're a werewolf?"

"She was down there a week ago and then everything was in order. Now it's missing. And I'm not a werewolf."

Opening the file, Malfoy scanned the first page. "She does know, of course, that her husband's got access to the vault – and that he's senile?" He lifted grey eyes to Bill's face. "What are you then?"

"I'm a hybrid," said Bill gruffly. "She's coming back tomorrow for another look. That husband of hers hasn't been to the vault in ages."

"A _hybrid_, eh? Fancy." Malfoy's lips curved into an amused smile. "But the Veela didn't approve?"

"What makes you think she didn't?"

"Well..." Malfoy leaned back in his chair, looking up at him. "Either she did and you bolted. Or she didn't and divorced you. Or it was a... what's the word? Ah, a mutual understanding!" He smirked. "But somehow you bear the look of someone who doesn't mutually understand much."

Bill shifted his weight from one foot to the other. The moon was waxing and though it was faint, he could feel the tantalising pull of the three full moon nights, little more than a week ahead. "I don't see why I should tell you anything about my private life."

He had expected some other answer than: "Fine. I'll contact Mrs Adero."

**Day Eight, Wednesday night **

**(With a stamp of misery on it.)**

Bill's flat was... nothing like anything most people would like to live in, probably. It suited him just fine, however, since it meant fewer visitors. Shell Cottage had been one of those places that people liked to visit, the remote location not much of an issue for wizards and witches. It was sold now, to a sweet elderly couple that Fleur and himself would never grow into.

In this place, his belongings seemed to deliberately scatter at their own volition. The cutlery stayed in the kitchen drawers and the books in the bookshelves, but he could have sworn that piles of clothes and stacks of work related documents and quills wandered off on their own at times, only to pop up somewhere completely unexpected. This morning, for example, he'd found Ron and Hermione's wedding photo neatly hidden underneath a greasy pot left on the stove. Feeling a bit guilty, he'd cleaned it up with a couple of charms but had then left it on the dining table (yes, he had one of those, thank you very much) to be dealt with properly some other day.

The only thing he was pleased with was his bed. It was a big one, with a high headboard and a high floorboard, and carved out of a single piece of dark wood. As he lay in it now, his thoughts strayed to Malfoy. No one ever mentioned Fleur around him any more. Or had, until now. It was strange, but somehow it was almost a relief to him. It proved that she'd been real, that she _had _after all played an important role in his life. In spite of the disappointment that was their marriage, he hoped that he had not wasted the years he'd spent with her.

And he was still grateful for another human being at work. Even though he was a former Death Eater.

**Day Nine, Thursday morning **

**(And still too early to be completely in control of oneself.)**

"Merlin's holy shit!" Bill came to an abrupt halt in the corridor.

"Watch your tongue, Weasley," Malfoy countered coolly. "I've got a whole batch of that favourite potion of yours brewing in my office."

Bill could not help but grin. "My eyes must be deceiving me," he said as he rounded on the younger man, giving him a thorough once-over. "You do realise, Malfoy, that you are giving off the impression of... _Muggle_?"

"Very perceptive of you," said Malfoy, rolling his eyes. "Go on, examine all you like. I do believe that you will find that the shirt is pure silk."

Circling him again, Bill supposed he was speaking the truth because the flawless fabric did give off a sort of smooth shimmer, even in here. What did draw his gaze, however, whether he liked it or not, was the slim waist, the shoulders that proved surprisingly broad and the gentle swell of Malfoy's arse, hidden by a layer of something black that took on the shape of trousers.

Swallowing, Bill let his gaze travel upwards again, to the blond hair that was surely messed up like that on purpose. It gave Malfoy the air of someone who had only a moment before got out of bed, but never needed to groom of even shower afterwards in order to look... good.

Something inside his chest dropped to the pit of his stomach. "Nice shoes."

Malfoy's lips twitched. "Thank you, Weasley." He brushed an imaginary speck of dust from his shoulder. "Now, excuse me, I have some clients to attend to."

This time, it was Bill's eyes that followed Malfoy down the corridor until he disappeared from view.

**Thursday afternoon **

**(Just after tea. Not that goblins take tea.)**

Bill tried his very best not to think. Every time his brain showed any signs of free will, he yanked open the topmost drawer of his filing cabinet and rummaged around in it until he found another forgotten or ignored document he should have dealt with a long time ago.

In six hours, he got more work done than he had during the whole previous week.

**Thursday afternoon **

**(Around 5 pm.)**

"So what's the good thing about being a hybrid?"

Bill looked up a little too quickly for his own taste. Malfoy was once again leaning against the door frame, regarding him with a curious light in his eyes.

"It obviously doesn't make you very orderly," he added, most likely referring to the current (or, to be honest, perpetual) state of the office.

Bill forbade his gaze to wander, keeping it firmly fastened upon Malfoy's face. The boy had grown. Quite frankly, he wasn't a boy any longer – no more than Harry was, or Ron. He was still slender, just as he had always been; it wouldn't harm him, putting on a few pounds, Bill decided. Even so, there was a hint of muscle beneath his shirt and though he was pale, he no longer looked emaciated, as he had done during his trial.

He was one of those people that time treated kindly. The older he grew, the more handsome he would become, probably. And wasn't that enviable? Malfoy was taller than Bill remembered him from the aftermath of the War, although he must have been fully grown by then, too... Bill admired the way his – no doubt – expensive trousers clung to his hips and the way he'd grown out of his ferret looks. He had nice hands, too.

And so much for prohibitions.

Malfoy was still watching him, with the expression of someone who was about to ask a question but couldn't decide on the wording.

"How did the meeting go?" Bill queried at last, relieved that he recognised his voice.

"Oh... excellent," said Malfoy offhandedly, pushing himself off the door frame and sauntering into the office. He claimed the chair opposite Bill. "A Muggle, who recently found out that both his wife and daughter are witches. Figured I'd intimidate him less if I wore Muggle clothing."

Impressed, Bill nodded. "You set up an account?"

"I did... His daughter's off to Hogwarts in the autumn and will need some gold."

"Right."

"So." Malfoy brushed the matter aside. "Hybrid."

"Why so interested?" Bill asked.

"Hmm... let's see... There's a full moon coming up and I'd like to know what to expect. If you mean to rip my heart out, I need to figure out a reason for staying at home."

"Where do you live anyway?" As soon as the War had ended, the Malfoy Mansion had been raided by the Aurors, and as far as Bill knew, the Ministry still lay a claim to it.

"Weasley," Malfoy leaned forwards in his seat, "if you have the intention of killing me, that is definitely not a question that I am very likely to answer."

"Don't you worry, Malfoy," said Bill. "I won't turn. And I'm certainly not killing anyone." He regarded him thoughtfully, suddenly struck by a curious desire to open up. Just a little – enough to set the other man's thoughts turning.

"And, yes, Fleur initiated the divorce, but I didn't mind that at all," he continued. "See... although I loved her once, there were some aspects of our relationship that did not suit me very well."

Malfoy's eyes had widened slightly at this unexpected heart-to-heart. Bill fought hard not to grin, and then he surprised himself:

"I don't mind women," he said, "but I have always, and I dare say, I always will, prefer men."

Yes, William – Bill – Weasley had always been a fan of surprises, just not every one of them.

**Day Fourteen, Tuesday lunch **

**(A sorry-looking one at that.)**

He'd managed to avoid Malfoy for two days. On Friday he had volunteered to help clear up a mess near the eastern part of the rail worming its way through the vaults. He had never learnt the details of what had happened down there but as far as he could see, it had involved some tampered-with cabbage, some snails, a bit of explosives in some form or another, and a healthy dose of snow white feathers.

Yesterday, he'd had lunch with his father and taken the time to settle some business in Diagon Alley. By the time he got back to his office, Malfoy had left.

With a bit of luck, the latter suffered from a really bad memory and had already forgotten their discussion on Thursday.

Or he had not.

"Weasley?"

Bill's heart sank as the voice sifted through his door.

"I know you're in there and I abhor waiting so if you would be so kind as to open up."

Reluctantly, Bill picked up his wand and obeyed. A second later, Malfoy's face twisted into an expression of distaste.

"Seriously? You _eat _in _here_?"

Bill shrugged non-committally, pushing the remnants of his lunch aside. "So what?"

"So what?" Malfoy echoed him. "So what..." With a disgusted look around the room, he stepped inside and closed the door behind him.

He was wearing robes again, to Bill's relief. He did not care about colours or fabric, as long as there were lots of the latter covering Malfoy's body up.

"It's a wonder there's no fungi growing in here," the younger man muttered, and then turned a mildly concerned look at Bill. "Or is there?"

"Not that I know. What do you want?"

Malfoy did not answer at once. He strode over to the window overlooking an extraordinarily ordinary brick wall. "You should get these windows cleaned," he remarked.

"I'll make a note," said Bill sourly.

"Really, Weasely," said Malfoy, turning to face him. "I cannot think what I have done to make you speak like that to me."

Refraining from saying anything about trousers, Bill remained silent.

"In any case," continued Malfoy, "I do believe I owe you a confession or two. So far only you've been doing the talking."

Bill stared at him in disbelief. "That's because you've been asking all the questions."

"And you never thought to ask a few of your own?"

Bill raked a hand trough his hair, some of it coming loose from the ponytail. "I guess not."

"Hm." Malfoy nodded. "That certainly does not compliment your intelligence, but I can live with that."

"Great."

"Well, you're quite the bundle of joy today, Weasley."

Bill sighed. "Listen, Malfoy–"

"Draco."

"What?"

"I do have a first name, you know."

"Well so do I but I don't hear you using it."

"Fair enough. Bill." Malfoy cocked his head to the side. "Or is it William?"

"Bill will do just fine."

"Ah, and I who rather like 'William'..."

Bill's grip on his wand tensed. One more day and then the full moon would be glaring down at him, its maddeningly glorious light singing in his very bones. "Malfoy..." he hissed.

"Draco."

Closing his eyes briefly, Bill willed himself to relax. "Draco," he forced out, "listen to me. I don't usually tell people I'm... I like men."

"No, I guessed as much," said Malfoy. "You don't seem like the person who goes spilling the beans to anyone you meet."

"Right," said Bill. "So I'd appreciate it if you kept your mouth shut about it."

"Yes, I thought we might come to that." Malfoy drew closer to the desk and sighed as he bent to relieve the only other chair left from its burden of parchments and books. Unceremoniously, he dumped his load on the floor. "I won't say anything, on one condition."

An ominous sensation settled on Bill's shoulders like a deadweight. "Which is...?"

Malfoy's eyes searched his face. They were beautiful eyes, a traitorous part of Bill's brain decided, like snow and ice and rivers blending into a silvery whole. There was something dark in them too, like unpolished pewter.

Or Bill could just give up his job at Gringotts and try his luck as a bloody poet.

"I won't say anything if you don't," said Malfoy.

"About what?"

Malfoy seemed to hesitate but then he spread his hands before him. "About _my _preferences."

Bill frowned. "What about them? What are you into, Malfoy?" He made a face, pulling back a little in his seat. "If it's got anything to do with Mandrakes or house-elves then I don't want to hear it! I've come across some dodgy characters..."

Malfoy looked appropriately disgusted. "Then I must say I question your choice of friends."

"Hey, I'm not saying–"

"Look here, Weasley. I'm sorry to disappoint you but I'm not that creative. All I'm saying is that I share your... sentiments. I, too, prefer... men."

Bill was pretty sure his chair wobbled a bit, or if it was the floor shaking. He was not sure it mattered. "You what?"

This time, it was Malfoy who closed his eyes in exasperation. "I'm _g___ay__, Weasley."

"Bill."

"Wha–" Opening his eyes, Malfoy looked as though he didn't want to smile but could not resist. He inclined his head. "Bill."

"Are you serious?"

"I don't see the point of lying about something like that." Malfoy sat back in his chair, stretching out his long legs in front of him. "No one knows, not even Blaise. And I'm not sure I want to tell him yet."

"Why are you telling me, then?"

"Well... You told me. An eye for an eye and all that."

Bill shook his head, but neither he could keep his smile at bay. "I'm not sure that saying applies in this case."

Malfoy – Draco – waved a hand dismissively. "You know what I mean."

"Yeah, I suppose."

Neither of them said anything more. A little while later, Draco drifted out of the office, leaving Bill to his own thoughts.

**Day Fifteen, Wednesday afternoon **

**(Where's that thunderstorm when you need it?)**

Bill paced the confines of his office. He could feel the waxing moon in his blood, chasing it through his veins at a dangerously high speed. He glowered at the sunlight that cheerfully bounced off the grimy window-glass. He had managed to get some work done before lunch but ever since he'd grown more and more restless; and with the full moon approaching, he wanted nothing more than to roam a forest... or the city streets... looking for... He banged a hand against the wall, not caring if he drew blood.

Which he didn't. He was a lousy hybrid.

Throwing himself into his chair, he tried to rein himself in. He liked those bloody steaks, his senses had sharpened and his needs had definitely grown stronger since Greyback bit him. It was all about flesh during the days surrounding the full moon. It was all about pounding flesh and boiling blood; and taste and smell; and groans and moans and...

Dropping his head into his arms, Bill groaned.

That wasn't the kind of groan he was after.

**Day Sixteen, Thursday (late) afternoon **

**(As in really, really late.)**

He had meant to leave early but something stopped him. Instead he sat behind his desk, watching specks of dust sail through the air.

There were a lot of them.

Finally it came: the knock on the door. Bill already knew who that was; he'd sensed Draco's presence all day, mostly concentrated to the office across the corridor. He'd let it wash over him, crawl over his skin and add to the heat already simmering just beneath it.

The door opened without him having to say anything. Draco appeared in the doorway, his haughty look immediately disturbed by something his eyes caught.

A shiver of pleasure slithered down Bill's spine._ Oh yes... _By birth he may be a simple Weasley, but in this very moment not even Draco could deny that there was more to him than that.

Revelling in the sea of power he floated in, Bill picked up on the quickening heartbeat of his quarry. He raised an eyebrow in silent inquiry.

He could hear Draco swallow. "I'm going home, Weasley."

Bill nodded. "Where do you live, Draco?"

To his credit, the younger man's voice didn't waver. "We covered that already. I'm not saying."

Gaining his feet, Bill closed some of the distance between them. "I liked those trousers of yours," he announced.

He knew, just by the look of him, that Draco's throat had gone dry. "You can have them," he managed. "Though I doubt they'd suit you."

"No, I don't think they would."

"And you'd spill something on them."

"I probably would."

Draco nodded.

Bill smirked. "Shame." He held the quivering grey gaze for a moment longer but then suddenly released it. "Well, you were going home."

The breath that Draco released flowed forth, a confused swirl of relief, guilt, fear and – ah, it was his favourite – lust.

"You're coming in tomorrow?"

Bill fixed him with his stare again, if only for the hell of it.

"Yes, I do believe I am."

**Day Seventeen, Friday afternoon **

**(Even later; and it was even beginning to rain.)**

One of the most admirable goblin traits was their bone-deep disinterest in human affairs in general. Bill had been working for them for years, in one way or another, and yet he was quite certain that they had no idea of his encounter with Greyback. If they did, none of them had said a word about it.

That was a good thing now when he was prowling his office as the drumming rain sought to match the temper of his blood. If Draco wasn't willing, he'd find someone else. But it _would_ be a shame.

_Draco_.

He would never take anyone by force; with Fleur he had tried being gentle but she was too... He had trouble finding the right word for it. She had never minded him being a bit rough around the edges but in the end she was too... too... accepting.

If he could have it, Bill wanted someone who could give back as good as he got.

Of course, he had no way of knowing how Draco would play the game if he decided to partake, but there was always a chance of a good match.

When Bill sensed the other human presence move, he slid closer to his door. Draco was hesitating. Half of him wanting to get the hell out of here before it was too late.

_Too late? _The other half of him asked. For what? What if there was a chance of...

Even as the younger man tried to quench the thought, Bill smiled to himself.

When Draco was ten paces further down the corridor, Bill slipped out of his office.

**Friday afternoon **

**(Thirty seconds later.)**

"Bloody hell, Weasley!" Draco's grey eyes were wide with badly concealed terror. "You scared the life out of me!"

"Oh, I hardly think so," said Bill calmly. Over the roar of his own blood, he could hear Draco's frantic heartbeat. "But I admit I never thought I'd hear a Malfoy say that."

There was a moment's respite.

"You won't ever again. Most likely, my bloodline will end with me."

Bill let his eyes rake over his slender form. "That's a pity."

Draco snorted. "You're a liar, William Weasley."

Now, seeing as the moon was a few hours from full, he really should not have said that. Then again, Bill reflected as he was pinning Draco to the wall, it had certainly helped matters along.

"What did you say?"

Draco's eyes were back to wide and his heart was considering leaping out of his chest. Not a word crossed his lips.

"There will be no need for wands," Bill informed him. "I only mean to make you an offer."

"What kind of offer?" Draco's voice was raspy with fear.

Bill chuckled as he adjusted his hold. "I think you already know." Experimentally, he pushed a knee in between Draco's thighs, proud when it worked too, swathed as the younger man was in his cloak and robes. "I had planned to go about it a bit slower," he admitted. "But if you take me up on this offer of mine we'll have plenty of time to go slower, later."

Draco was trembling now. "You're going to..."

"I'm not going to do anything unless you grant me permission to do it."

"How can I trust you?"

Bill pondered this for a moment. "I want to keep my job," he smirked.

"You're crazy!"

"No, Draco," said Bill sternly, locking eyes with him. "_That _I am not."

He knew he shouldn't but there was blood humming just beneath that brilliantly thin skin of Draco's lips, and if anyone was to blame it was Greyback. Satisfied with this analysis, he covered Draco's lips with his own.

He fed on the small gasp that followed. Draco went rigid for a second or two (possibly three, if Bill were to be honest) before he seemed to come to some decision. His stance softened somewhat and he did not object as Bill's tongue pushed into his mouth, seeking more warmth and life. In fact, he reciprocated. Bill felt the answering curl of a tongue, the scrape of teeth against his own lips and the moulding of energy into the suggestion that they had a long night ahead of them.

He released his hold on Draco, giving him back his options. The younger man regained his balance quickly and did not even break the kiss. Bill's hands sought him out again, but this time with the intention of finding a way to reveal skin. When he did not succeed, he broke away with a growl.

Draco's lips were reddened and contrasted starkly against his pale skin. A few strands of blond hair fell into his eyes. Without a word, he unclasped his cloak and with a heavy sigh it fell to his feet.

"Robes, too," instructed Bill. "I never liked robes."

"I can see that." Draco nodded at his jeans and t-shirt.

"Complaints, Malfoy?"

Draco smirked up at him. "If I'm getting naked, so are you."

**Friday (early) evening **

**(And the goblins have gone home for the weekend.) **

Draco lay stretched out on the floor, partially on his side and partially on his back. He was a delicious mess of limbs, sweat and release. His breathing was still ragged as Bill crawled over him.

He had first taken him against the wall, pounding into the willing flesh with a desire so raw that it blinded him. But Draco had held on, had pushed back, and had even let Bill continue long after he himself was spent.

They sagged to the floor at last, and Bill was vaguely grateful for the wine red carpet covering the tiles. Not that the colour mattered, but it did compliment Draco's skin.

Looking at him now, Bill wondered if there was a trace of Veela in him. He hoped not.

Hunger rose quickly again, filling him to the brim and hardening his flesh to the point of agony. He bent down, stealing a kiss from parted lips that yielded at once. Pleased, Bill lowered himself down on to the floor, pressing against the supple form of his new lover. When nothing stopped him, he pushed Draco's legs apart and drove inside him again. The howl was his, the keening moan belonged to Draco.

The fire that burned in his belly spread outwards as he thrust into the darkness. Draco was tight but experienced, even though at this point he merely followed where Bill lead. But when Bill's hand encircled his cock, Draco convulsed.

"Too... much..." He was hard, his flesh burning but his cries betrayed his agony.

"Just a little further," Bill coaxed him in a voice that was nothing like his ordinary one.

"Can't..."

"Yes, you can." He'd been driven this far...

Draco writhed where he lay, hovering on the edge with his mind reeling, his senses exploding and his blood screaming. Bill strengthened his grasp on Draco's cock and fisted him hard. Stars danced at the edge of his vision and his last conscious thought was that he could go no deeper than he already had; buried to the hilt in Draco's shaking body, there was only one thing he could do.

He let go.

**Day Twenty, Monday morning **

**(Some are better than others. Not this one. Or perhaps a little.)**

"I swear you could lose a dragon in here."

Bill lifted his head wearily from where it had rested in his arms. "Huh?"

"You look like shit."

"Thanks."

Bill closed his eyes and let his head land where it fell.

The sound of Draco moving into the office had him groaning. (Still not one of those groans that he liked best.) A hand landed on his shoulder.

"Seriously, William, we'll have fungi growing all over you if you don't do anything about it."

"Mmm..."

"And when that happens there is no chance in hell that I will let you touch me ever again."

Bill knew he ought to react to that last bit but he couldn't work up the energy. "What are you doing in here anyway?" His words were muffled by his arm.

"Seeing if you need some more of that potion."

"Bring it on."

"Your flat's just as bad you know."

"Seriously, what _are_ you doing in here?"

"Seriously?"

"Mhm..."

The hand snaked into his hair. "You going to be this way after every full moon?"

"Yes."

Somewhere above, Draco heaved a dramatic sigh. "I'm bored."

"That's why you're here?"

"Partly."

Bill relaxed under the touch; Draco was softly kneading the muscles in his neck, driving some of the tension out of them.

"Why?"

Another sigh. "Because I can't sit down, you bugger!"

His lips curving into a grin, Bill sniggered. "Two days and you're already worn out?"

"_Two days? _Two days, three nights and one evening is a more correct estimate."

"That's nothing."

"No? You're just as exhausted as I am."

"Because I did all the work."

Draco muttered something indecipherable but his hands did not go away. Instead, Bill was surprised when a kiss landed at the nape of his neck.

"Next time, you'll be the one standing for a week afterwards," Draco warned him darkly.

That was the thing about surprises: some of them were a rotten lot, but here and there an occasional jewel glinted in the moonlight.

"I'll fuck you straight through that fucking wall."

It got better and better.

**The End**


End file.
